Sunday, September 12, 2004

I Wish My Brother George Was Here...

On Thursday morning of our Vegas trip, Laura wisely decided to abandon us menfolk for a trip to the spa. Sean and I found ourselves with a couple of hours to kill, so we decided to check out the Liberace Museum.

I must say that, for $10, the Liberace Museum is about the most fun you can have in Vegas that doesn't involve "full-release." It's cheesy as hell, but the people are very nice and HOLY CRAP, DO THEY LOVE THEIR LIBERACE!!!

I should mention that we had originally intended on visiting the Elvis Museum as well. Unfortunately, it was closed on Thursday and Friday. But in preparation for that great pilgrimage, I was dressed in this truly cool-ass Elvis shirt that I bought at Graceland a couple of years ago.

My cool-ass Elvis shirt.

So anyway, we wandered through the exhibits and viewed Liberace's pianos and cars and costumes. Liberace's fans like to make a big deal about the 1983 palimony suit, in which his true sexuality was finally made public. But Jesus, the man pranced around on stage in star-spangled short-shorts and a feathered cape in the 1960s! His fans must have been going through some serious denial, because anyone with half a brain could see that Liberace was gayer than two men having sex.

But I digress...

After the exhibits, Sean and I wandered through the gift shop. They wouldn't let us take pictures inside the museum, so we were digging through the postcards when I heard a whispered conversation behind me.

The cashier and a small, flashy man were looking at me and pointing. When they saw me looking, they smiled and waved. I went back to browsing, but soon those two were joined by two or three other ladies who worked as tour guides in the museum.

I carried my postcards up to the counter, and the man told me that he just LOOOOOVED my shirt, and he just had to know where I'd gotten it! I told him it was from Graceland, and he and the ladies began murmuring amongst themselves quite excitedly. He said, "You guys should get some shirts like this made up for the museum. I bet they would sell."

As I was paying for my postcards, I felt a hand on my collar. It was one of the ladies, trying to look at the tag of my shirt. As she struggled with that, the man asked me, "Do you know who made it?" I said I wasn't sure, but I could check.

I felt another hand on my shoulders as another lady tried to push me down so they could get a better look. Another hand tugged my sleeve. And the man said, "Oh, he can go ahead and take it off. He's got a t-shirt on underneath it." AND HE REACHED OVER AND STARTED UNBUTTONING MY SHIRT!!!

"No, I got it," one of the old ladies chirped right in my ear. She yanked down on my collar and I wound up crouching while the three of them peered down the back of my neck.

While this was going on, Sean just watched, amused. He fumbled for his camera, but couldn't get to it in time to capture what he referred to as "the look of utter shock and horror" on my face.

Once the women determined that the shirt was made in Taiwan, most of them went back to work. The cashier called us a cab, and the man continued to hang around us, asking us all kinds of questions about Liberace. "How long have you been listening to him? Did you ever see him live? Do you remember where you were when he died?" I didn't really have the heart to tell him we'd come to the museum as a joke, so I told him we had only recently come to appreciate the man's talent, etc.

Sean also took that opportunity to mention his wife Laura approximately 8,544 times, just so the man wouldn't get the wrong idea about us. What's really scary is, I don't think that guy actually worked there. I think he just hung around the museum. A lot.

So if you find yourself in Vegas with a little cash and few hours to spare, be sure to check out the Liberace Museum. Here are a few tips to make your visit more enjoyable:

Show your cab receipt to the cashier to get $2.00 off the price of admission.

Try to schedule your visit around 1:00 so you can catch the Liberace impersonator.

If you're going to visit the gift shop afterwards, FOR GOD'S SAKE DRESS IN LAYERS!!!

It's All About Me

I am a straight white male between the ages of 17 and 44. I’m an Aries and a recovering Baptist. By national standards, I’m moderate in my politics, but by Texas standards I’m somewhere to the left of Lenin. I have a certain boyish charm that makes me irresistible to children, pets, and old people. I’ve grown indifferent towards the night life, and I no longer care to boogie. Like slightly more than 100% of the English majors I know, I’m a writer wannabe who has yet to get published. I am not now, nor have I ever been, “emo.” I have a singing voice that resembles the wailing of damned souls. I am the walrus, kookoo katchoo. I shot the sheriff. But, and I’d like to make this perfectly clear, I did *not* shoot the deputy. I once divided by zero. I used to think I had no discernable Texas accent, but a recent visit to Canada made me realize that I actually sound like goddamn Jethro. I believe the children are the future. And my hobbies include writing slash furry Star Trek fan fiction and sitting on the toilet until my legs fall asleep.